Here Be Dragons!

One of the realities of hiking after storm season is that the trails will change. Branches break, rocks tumble, trees can fall. In some instances, the trail will be unchanged; in other times it may divert to an easier pathway around landmarks or to ensure safety. In the case of fallen trees, they often need to be trimmed or removed.

On a hike a few weeks ago, one such fallen tree had been cut so hikers could access the path. What had been a substantial arborial marker at the trailhead had descended into a non-viable barricade – and so it was cut. This is what maintenance looks like; it’s not always what we expect or desire but it is what needs to be done.

The particular tree, in being cut, now resembles a dragon. A friendly dragon, to be sure, but those of us on the trail had all commented on its appearance. Who knew that hidden inside that tree for all those years was a dragon to greet us on entry, and wish us well on our exit, overseeing our path?

 
The maintenance was not only necessary, but in doing so, it showed a new thing. So often when we undertake our own maintenance seriously, we too can discover something new – a new opportunity, an unexpected pleasure, a happy surprise. But for us to find those new things, the maintenance must happen.

In our physical bodies, we maintain ourselves with good food, rest, adequate hygiene and grooming. We know that when we look after ourselves well, we make choices and changes: our hair is cut (to avoid becoming scraggly Cousin Itt), our meals are better for us when they are balanced and nutritious (even if the chips appeal), etc. They are small but important aspects of self-maintenance.

So too in our spiritual lives, there are ways that we benefit from maintenance: examining our prayer practices, considering our theologies, embracing our mission… all these things are good, and need regular assessment. They may need to be adjusted, adapted, or altogether changed. What we learned in Sunday school days was wonderful, for the age and stage – but as we develop and mature we are given the gift of possibility: to mature and grow, to discern, to explore: and to maintain a healthy and vibrant spiritual reality.

 
So let’s embrace the possibilities ahead of us, confident that as we journey forward, we may be delightfully surprised by what is hidden within – waiting to be revealed, like a cute dragon in a broken tree. 

Home

Tis the season – of wild geese. The seasons are changing, and with the crispness to the air comes the honking of the geese, as they head about in formation to begin their journey southward to their winter homes.

I’ve seen a lot of geese lately, and they have made me ponder of the homeness of ‘home’. What does home mean? Is it an address? A collection of people? A time on a calendar or clock?

The geese are always heading to their ‘home’ – for home travels with them. Unlike other birds, they wait until they need to move on before they do. When they fly, they intend to stay together - the weakest or slowest bird sets the pace at the start of the V formation. They stop at places that are either known as landmarks, or have a magnetic resonance – and there they remain until all members of the flock are able to fly again with renewed energy and recovery of any ailments.

For geese, home is a concept: it is a (series of) relationship(s), it is the place that nourishes them, it is the place where they take rest for restoration. Home is a concept where no one is excluded or left behind, where the health of everyone is considered, where well-being is a collective assessment. It’s a reality that is created and supported by the entirety of the community.

In short, home is love.

It is the place where love is found, where love is known, where love is shared. A place where
For those of us with faith, home is where we find God – which means that home can be anywhere. It also means that our holy places have been trusted with the honour and obligation to be responsible for maintaining ‘home’ space for all.

For God is already with us: love is already with us. When we see the world through eyes of faith, we realise we are already home even while we are searching for home.

Like the geese: returning home again: for whatever distractions of the world, our innermost souls know the way home – and are leading us there.



Mary Oliver’s poem “Wild Geese”
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Squirrel! moments

My mind can wander. 

In fact, it can leap, race, and prance in many different directions. I can keep focus, but sometimes distractions creep in. (I know I'm not alone!) 

My friends and I refer to these as squirrel moments. Not, ironically, because squirrels are easily distracted - quite the opposite. But as dog people, we've watched our canine companions suddenly lose all focus as a squirrel runs past. Blurting out "squirrel!" is a claim of our loss of focus. 

Squirrels, however, given their precarious positioning on the food chain, are normally quite attentive to their surroundings. The critter in the photo here (seen on a hike this weekend) was alert and responsive to the environment. 

When humans walked past, s/he immobilised and watched them. 

When I stopped to take a photo, said squirrel kept a close eye on me, and chittered as I took a step closer, finally relocating to a higher branch (and issuing me a derisive teeth chattering). 

As other hikers came near with a dog, the sharp-eyed squirrel rapidly disappeared down the tree and into the woods, all thoughts of acorns replaced by survival instinct. 

Squirrels know that being distracted can be dangerous; while we also apply such wisdom to aspects in our lives (like driving or cutting vegetables) we may not always consider our focus on less dangerous activities to be potentially problematic. 

Worship and prayer, for example: these are aspects of our lives onto which we should be maintaining focus and attention. Admittedly, distractions happen even in the midst of prayer, but we are better in our faith and spirituality when we choose to return - and return, and return - to not only the specific of our prayers task but also reminded of the intention of our prayers and praise. 

We are nourished by the regular focus to our spiritual practices, and we strengthen our souls as we extend the care to empty our minds of the world's distractions for a few moments, to connect with the timeless assurance of love and grace. 

For myself, as one who acknowledges those moments of rapid inattention, perhaps the cry of "squirrel!" will shift from a joking statement of distraction to an invitation of focus, especially within the relationship with the divine. 

Squirrel, indeed.